


Sweet Dreams 'Til Sunbeams Find You

by cheshirecatstrut



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship, Gratuitous Smut, Light Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecatstrut/pseuds/cheshirecatstrut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan Echolls doesn't believe in better tomorrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams 'Til Sunbeams Find You

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the 2016 Veronica/Logan Smut A Thon, inspired by Ghostcat's Fanworks Festivus. This was supposed to be PWP, but I started writing from Logan's POV, and it accidentally turned into a grand romance.

[](http://imgur.com/wHNu6wy)

(Cover art by the lovely and amazing Lilamadison11)

Logan Echolls doesn’t believe in wishes granted, or better tomorrows. He doesn’t believe in much, to be honest; the perfect curl of a wave, maybe, the warm benediction of a summer’s day. The fact that everyone who loves him will eventually leave, and he’ll be stuck in the undertow, fighting to surface. So when Lilly Kane shows up at his door, and tells him his dream’s come true, he laughs in her face.

He invites her to stay awhile, anyway. Lilly sucks at relationships, which is why he dumped her five years back; but she hasn’t left, either, which makes her (almost) unique. And she’s always good for a laugh, bang, and hug, not necessarily in that order. 

“I’m having cocktail hour,” he informs her, returning to the living room. He sprawls backwards on the couch, and puts his bare feet up on the coffee table. Lifts the bottle of Jack beside them, waggles it in invitation. He’s in his pajamas, wet from his post-workout shower, and he hasn’t shaved for a week; but Lilly doesn’t give a fuck. She likes him a little careless and mean, and she likes him on demand. “If you’re feeling extra fussy, by all means dig through the kitchen. Find yourself a glass.”

She sits beside him on the couch, kicks off her shoes, and curls her feet up daintily beneath her ass. Extracts the bottle from his hand, takes a swig. She’s in a snug black dress with a deep v-neck, that stretches to accommodate her curves, and she’s got rings on every finger, including her thumb. “You seem pretty laid back,” she says, eyeing him over the lip. “I guess you haven’t heard.”

“I heard your cryptic comment about dreams fulfilled,” he counters, reclaiming the bottle. “But since I don’t HAVE any dreams, and we’ve exhausted my repertoire of fantasies, I can’t quite see your point.”

“Duncan’s getting married,” she tells him, with the barely-there smirk that means trouble. “And not to Veronica. He announced it over Thanksgiving dinner.”

Logan stares at her. He stares some more, but she won’t recant, so he gives in and starts to laugh. “Celeste must be ecstatic,” he manages, between gasps. “After ten years of DuVe, she’d abandoned all hope. Who’s the lucky future Stepford Wife?”

“Shelby Blake.” Lilly shows both dimples, a glint in her eye. “Veronica’s a mess. She found out when Madison emailed her the wedding announcement. Duncan didn’t bother to dump her, it seems.”

Logan’s wheezing with laughter now, though it’s not that funny. It’s actually sad, and he can picture Veronica’s sharp face, wide mouth twisted and bitter, big kitten eyes leaking tears. Her pain PAINS him, which strikes him as ludicrous. She clung to perfect, boring, and normal like Titanic’s last lifeboat, though Duncan patently gave no fucks. Now she’s learned she’s a placeholder, useless for garnering votes; and her Stanford days are in the rearview. Bagging upwardly-mobile fiancé number two, while fighting her way through law school, is going to prove a challenge.

It’s so beneath her, and so pathetic…if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll cry. And Logan learned, when he was sixteen and his mom died, that tears help exactly none.

“While I appreciate this scenario, in a black comic sense,” he manages finally, enjoying a swallow of bourbon, gazing at the non-hilarious ceiling, “I don’t grasp its relevance to my dreams.”

“No?” Lilly asks. “I spent the day with Ronica. We talked a lot, about roads not taken.”

He tilts his face to look at her, and she’s still smiling…a sharp, fixed smile, like she’s predator, and he’s prey. Usually it turns him on, when she tries to get the best of him; she’s little, and soft, and not mean enough to succeed. But this is his one sore spot, and unfortunately, she knows. “You didn’t,” he says, voice quiet.

“She’s NEVER had an orgasm with a lover,” Lilly informs him, in dulcet tones. “Never ever EVER, apparently Duncan’s shit in bed. Which comes as no surprise, though I could have done without details. Because ew, hello! He’s still my brother!” She purloins the bottle and drinks, long smooth throat shifting sexily. “Anyway, we’ve plotted our revenge. I’ll plant a rumor in the press that will FREAK OUT all offending parties. And Ronica gets to borrow you, so she can learn what she’s been missing.”

Logan shakes his head, but she doesn’t change expression. Mouth pursed, one brow raised, dimples indented, cheeks pink….daring him to join the mayhem. He can’t deny he’s fond of her; beautiful, mischievous, untouchable Lilly, warm-hearted with a wandering eye. She’s loyal as hell, when she doesn’t feel trapped, and she keeps his secrets well. Duncan holds the ceremonial title, but Lilly’s his true best friend.

Logan remembers how clingy he got, when he thought she was The One; spinning dreams of True Love, like cobwebs, in an effort to ensnare her. How much lighter he felt, all over, when he finally let her go. He’d like to forget the day he learned that clinging does no good. The day he asked for tenderness from both her and Veronica, and ended up zero for two. But Lilly clearly doesn’t want that. Maybe Veronica doesn’t, either. 

“I’m not a library book,” he says, because no way will he let her pimp him. “I’m unavailable for check out by the unwashed masses.”

“What, you can’t do a solid for your oldest friends?” Lilly coaxes. “Ronica’s ALWAYS there for you, when YOU need a pal! She invites you EVERY YEAR to Christmas dinner, so you won’t brood on your orphaned state.”

“And I appreciate that,” he says, “even though I turn her down, every year, because her father hates me. But showing up periodically in jingle-bell hats, with gingerbread, does NOT entitle her to rent boy services. Veronica’s had the hots for me since she was twelve, but she chose Duncan. She wants DUNCAN. I’ll be YOUR friend with benefits, because that’s our mutual comfort zone. But I won’t throw a consolation fuck to a girl that makes love. The end. Thanks so much for playing, door’s over there.”

“She may have CHOSEN Duncan,” Lilly says, “but he’s not the one she LOVES, Logan. You know that as well as I do. Don’t pretend.”

“If that’s true,” Logan counters, “she made an epically dumb mistake. Which is sad, tragic even, but not my problem. Go buy her a vibrator, and some porn designed for girls. She’s smart and determined, she’ll figure it out.”

“Shall I tell her you said that, when I give her your answer?”

“Phrase ‘no’ however you want.” He waves magnanimously, drinks deep. “Just be sure to include the operative word.”

XXXXX

Logan’s good and trashed when the doorbell rings, so he doesn’t bother to answer. He got past booze-drenched buffoonery years ago; since age twenty-two, cocktail hour’s been about NOT imbibing. But the fact that Veronica would play him for revenge stings. It burns the one vestigial part of him that’s earnest and good…that believes in love, in doing what’s right. He’s used to nobody respecting this slice of him, or hell, even NOTICING it. But HE respects it. HE keeps it sacrosanct. Maybe someone will find a use for his heart, someday. Meanwhile, it buoys his self- esteem, to know he’s not all bad. 

And he’s drunk enough to admit: he idealizes Veronica to protect himself. Because if the unspoken…thing between them doesn’t truly exist? If Ronnie Mars could use him to get her rocks off, while pining for another? Then what’s the point of hoping for a better tomorrow? He should just step off the edge of whatever cliff is nearest, let himself fall and fall.

A key scratches in the door, it unlocks, and hello, Round Two of Fuck With Logan’s Mind. Veronica shuffles into the room, pale and tear-stained. She’s dressed in powder-blue sweats and Uggs, a red tank like a second skin. Her hair’s hanging loose, and she’s so tense she can’t stand still. She looks about seventeen, which makes him half-hard, remembering, and great, now he’s madder than before.

“Well, look who stopped by to cross the last line,” he says. He picks up the bottle of Jack to toast her, finds it empty; sighs, as he realizes his self control’s drowned. He turns back to the Buffy marathon. “Objectifying me for thrills wasn’t enough, so you decided to invade my privacy? Great job, Mars; you’ve burned the bridge of our former friendship right to the fucking ground.”

“Lilly must be playing games,” she says, expressionless. Like she’s so depressed and exhausted, she can’t even summon outrage. “She told me your guest room was free, if I needed tea and sympathy; gave me a key she SAID was from you. But that’s not tea, you’re not sympathetic, and I clearly wasn’t invited. I don’t have the mental fortitude today, to investigate this mystery. So I’ll apologize for whatever lies she told, and be on my merry way.”

For the second time this afternoon, Logan laughs at something unfunny. “I’m surprised,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Why am I surprised? Lilly LIVES to play puppeteer. I’m too drunk to get up without stumbling, Ronnie, but tea and sympathy I can handle. Tea’s in the kitchen cabinet; sympathy’s over here on the couch.”

One side of her wide, mobile mouth quirks: he can’t help smiling back. “I could give a shit about tea,” she says. Tosses her messenger bag on a chair, and approaches to slump beside him.

She feels slight and warm as a kitten, nestled against his flank; her silky head tucks naturally into the hollow of his shoulder. Her fingers curl around his wrist. He cuddles her in, kisses her scalp, and says, “Duncan’s a fucking idiot.”

“Agreed,” she says. “What on Earth did Lilly tell you, that made you so mad?”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he says. “I should have known it wasn’t true.”

XXXXX

They don’t talk; they never do, Logan and Veronica, about anything that matters. Bursts of brutal honesty, followed by long-term jokey sarcasm, is their pattern, and it keeps an even keel. They watch Buffy; he rouses himself after a while to make cocoa and popcorn, which she wanly consumes. Eventually, the fifth of booze sucks him under. He falls asleep on the couch, Veronica a light drift of weight atop him. Her little hand grips his shoulder, her face is pressed to his throat. 

He wakes with a dry mouth and headache, and the smell of her in his nose….roses and amber, yearning and regret. She’s twenty-five years old, but she looks dewy in sleep; soft mouth parted and damp, skin like peaches and pearls. He runs a hand, feather-light, down her spine, shifts her off his boner. Gazes, helpless, upon her. He loves her. He always has. He never admits it, but he always will; in unguarded moments, his love, like his cock, swells to unbearable dimensions. He wishes Lilly didn’t know, and wouldn’t use the knowledge to hurt him. He wishes Veronica did know, but he’s not stupid enough to tell.

She shifts, luxurious fringe of blonde lashes fluttering. His hand presses firmly to the small of her back, determined not to wander. Her breath is soft on his cheek, as she huffs and snuffles awake. “Logan,” she says, husky, not opening her eyes. “You always were a pro at showing a girl a good time.”

“And you’ve never even seen my A material,” he murmurs, lips against her forehead. Her hand curls around his waist, small but strong. He starts counting backwards from a thousand, willing his dick to subside before she notices.

“I’m not sure I’d survive.” She kisses his cheek, and he tries to roll up and away, but she won’t let him go. “No, stay, comfy,” she protests. “The smell of booze and flop sweat in the morning reminds me of home.”

He laughs. Veronica knows whereof she speaks, when it comes to drunk mothers. “My memories stink of Southern Comfort and regret,” he agrees. “Shrouded with liberal sprinklings of Chanel #5. Whereas YOURS are more dead dreams doused in gin.”

“Mmm, Mom drank it from water bottles,” Veronica says, against his throat. “She was sneaky. I like your way better. You almost never tie one on, and when you do, it’s right in everybody’s teeth.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I was furious and hurt. And it was cocktail hour.”

“Why do you call it cocktail hour, when you just stare at the bottle for ten minutes, and then don’t drink?”

“Sometimes I stare for an hour,” he says, easily. “Just to prove to myself I’m immune.”

“You’re not an alcoholic,” she tells him, thumb stroking his lowest rib. “You need to let that particular fear go.”

“Someday,” he says. “I got sloshed to forget last night, though, so it won’t be happening soon.”

“Just tell me,” she says. She shifts and squirms against him, until she’s gazing into his eyes. Hers are celestial blue, tilted up at the corners, dramatic against her angular cheekbones. She looks sultry and wholesome both, just to fuck with his mind. He feels the falling sensation in his gut he always gets, when he stares at her too long; but he has no desire to quit. “I want to know what Lilly said. It can’t be THAT bad.”

He lifts a skein of her hair that’s draped over his chest, and traces it down, past her breast, almost to her ribcage. If she wore it loose this way, and rode him, it would swing around them like a curtain, obscuring the dark corners of his world with a thin film of gold. The image takes hold, and he wonders if he’s a masochist, torturing himself. Why give a fuck about pride, when it kills his chance to be inside her? “She said you screwed Duncan for ten years straight, but he never made you come,” he admits, voice a caress. “And you hoped I’d ease the break-up pain, by showing you what you’re missing.”

Veronica’s mouth falls open in unfakeable outrage, and she turns a bright, embarrassed red. “Oh my GOD!” She plants a hand on his chest and looks down at it, abruptly noting his proximity. “OH my God, I’m going to kill her!” She scrambles over him in her haste to flee, knee brushing his painfully engorged dick, and he winces. She disappears into the kitchen with a decisive slam, and he laughs again, because fucking fate.

Logan doesn’t chase her. Instead he goes the opposite direction; to the shower, a locked door, his soaped-up fist, and sanity. He jerks off fast, imagining that curtain of hair and her sleek skin…small, soft tits, a waist that fits between his hands. Comes so hard, he feels dizzy after. Washes, then shaves, to give his mind time to calm. 

He expects her to be gone when he re-emerges, safely t-shirted and jeaned; but she’s still in the kitchen, dicing an onion into meticulous squares. There’s butter sizzling in a cast-iron pan, small bowls of mushrooms, peppers and eggs. She can barely meet his eyes, when he makes a point to smile at her, though her lips curve up in response. 

He hands her a spare toothbrush, a travel-sized Crest; shoves her aside with his hip, gently, and takes over cooking. Pretends not to watch as she cleans up in the sink, secures her hair in a knot with a chip clip. He gives a few slashing chops to her onions, destroying the careful pattern, and slings them in the pan, tossing the other vegetables atop. Stirs, intensely aware of her in brisk motion as she puts the dishes on to soak.

“It wasn’t ten,” she says softly, as he adds the eggs, selecting an apple from the fruit bowl. 

“Beg pardon?” he asks, distracted. Her white teeth in the fruit seem prurient.

“I didn’t sleep with Duncan for ten years. More like five.” She meets his gaze directly, over the half-cooked frittata, and he’s trapped by her catlike ferocity. “He didn’t work up to sex until we were almost twenty. And then, about a year ago, we just…stopped.” She finishes her bite and sets the apple down, like she’s lost her appetite. Goes back to avoiding his gaze. “And it’s true, I want…to do those things, with you, though Duncan doesn’t factor in. I’m fully aware, however, that you’ll never play along. So please don’t think I orchestrated this awkwardness to humiliate you, or whatever. I’m actually FURIOUS with Lilly for meddling.”

He huffs a laugh, because no, just no. It’s not Christmas yet, and he has NOT been a good boy. “You think I’M the one who lacks interest?” he clarifies. Turns off the burner under the eggs, and shifts them to one side. He can’t be trusted near hot things, right this minute.

“Oh, I know you like me physically,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not BLIND. But you’re proud, and you’re an all-or-nothing guy. You kissed me once and I ran…I was scared by how good it felt. And you never let me close enough, after, to make me comfortable trying again.”

“You ran back to DUNCAN,” he says shortly, slashing a hand sideways. “Then you STAYED.”

She shakes her head. “I was just…I needed time. It all happened so fast, and I’m a thinker. I process. You didn’t give me that. You didn’t even give me a DAY.”

“You started CRYING and FLED!” he says, voice low. Like he’s sixteen, not twenty-five; like that moment ten years ago is happening all over, so vivid the memory remains. “You sent a pretty clear signal!”

“I was a VIRGIN, Logan,” she says, and gets in his face, angry enough now to be aggressive; and GOD, it’s hot, her white teeth sneering, eyes narrowed to slits. “Duncan hadn’t even gotten the nerve to put his HAND up my shirt, and you had me against a WALL. Crying and giving me hickeys, while you tried to unfasten my pants. I wanted flowers and romance. I wanted foreplay. I wanted those things from YOU. But I got loose, you said, ‘I fucking KNEW it!’ and I… just couldn’t deal with your anger. The next time I saw you, it was too late. You had a hot girlfriend, a never-empty flask, and spoke only in acid quips. It was almost six months before you SMILED at me again.”

She shakes her head, picks up a spatula, spinning it between her fingers. “I liked what you did,” she admits, ruefully. “I wanted more. But everything was so messed up, the day you found out your mother had really died, it felt like the wrong time for intimacy. I didn’t have a clue what asking you to slow down would cost me.”

He takes the spatula out of her hands, tosses it on the table. “Why did you stop sleeping with Duncan, last year?” he asks, quiet.

She shrugs. Spears him with a glance. “I couldn’t fake it anymore,” she says. 

Logan lifts her onto the counter then, wedges his way between her legs; her eyes dilate, all invitation, and he goes painfully hard. One corner of her mouth curves up, sly and knowing. It’s the Veronica Mars siren song, and he’s never been able to resist. 

He runs his thumb along her moist lower lip, smiles back, and kisses her, seeking deep. She sighs and opens, legs, arms and mouth…enfolds him, unhesitating, in soft, slender grace.

Her tongue is hot and eager, her skin poreless and velvety, and he smoothes his hands up her arms just to feel the hairs rise, electric. Jerking off in the shower bought him nothing, apparently, because he still wants to devour her. He tugs her closer, rubbing his dick against the warm crease of her sex, and she gives a small, breathy moan that spears right through him.

He ducks his face to her throat. The last time she let him get this close, he found a spot below her ear that made her lose it. He searches for a minute, and yeah, there it is; suddenly she’s all fragrant gasps, writhing in his arms. Her hands slide down his back, curl around his ass, her grip possessive. “Logan,” she says, on a sigh, and he’s toast. Naked time, or he’s coming in his jeans, and nobody wants that to happen.

He delves under her tank, giving in to the urge to circle her waist… his thumbs touch at her navel, Jesus. He shifts the offending cloth up, over her head, and she lifts her arms to help.

He’s never seen her tits before, and he finds himself staring, memorizing. They’re dainty but round, small nipples more fuchsia than pink, crinkled into tight, sensitive knots. All he wants, suddenly, is his mouth on them. He wants to make her come that way, sucking and teasing, while she pants and tries to climb him, like it’s high school. A kink urge, and he embraces it. He’s kink, and she’s hot for him anyway. Let her learn what’s included in the package.

He lifts her, spins to the dining room table, where they can sprawl and go to work without hot, raw food flying. He puts his mouth over the delicate skin of one breast…sucks, lightly, licks with leisurely strokes. He massages the other, circling her nipple with his thumb, and yeah, she’s into it. 

She’s wiggling, seeking contact; she says “Tease,” in a low, sardonic voice that makes him laugh, despite himself. 

“Yep,” he agrees, unapologetic, and begins to nibble, tugging harder on the other nipple, gradually ramping up stimulation. She huffs and rubs against him, and his hips start rolling without conscious intention. He’s bent almost double, she’s SO much smaller, but he doesn’t care. Her pussy’s on him right THERE, and she’s gasping now, as he licks the undercurve, pinches and nips. 

“TOUCH me,” she says, “Or kiss me, or SOMETHING,” and he says, “Uh-uh. You come THIS way. You wanted foreplay, remember? Be careful what you wish for.”

“You’re such an ASSHOLE,” she says, baring her teeth. She grips his biceps, for leverage.

He grins, and grinds into her, taunting. “You’re just noticing that now?”

The flush starts, as he circles his hips, pinkening her chest and throat. He smirks and gentles his mouth, stroking over her nipples lazily, blowing hot air. Grazing with his teeth. She grimaces and digs her nails in, undulating furiously; her head falls back and she gasps, going rigid, then boneless. He keeps licking; shifts his too-eager cock away from her sex, and replaced it with his hand. Shivers, because the thick fleece of her sweatpants is soaked through. God, oh God, she’s fiercer than he thought, and he wants inside her for HOURS.

He straightens, stretching his aching back, rubbing absently at his cock; he’s so turned on, it itches. All his skin is twitchy, goosebumped. She sits up too, and he curves his hand around her jaw and kisses her. Her mouth is slack and soft, trembling a little. Sex with her is almost torture. He feels too much, wants too much, and she’s so turned on, he suspects she’s game.

“So that’s ONE thing you were missing,” he says, affecting casualness, and she laughs against his lips. Her delicate hands rise to cradle his cheekbones, and she traces the wings of his brows with her fingertips. 

“Your turn,” she says, as he’s debating how to make her come next; it’s the last thing he expects. And then she’s kissing him, feather-light, lips brushing like butterflies across the planes of his face. His lids, his lashes. The hollows of his cheeks. It’s so gentle he wants to cry, and she must know that, she knows him. She GETS how he’s unraveled by tenderness. Her little tongue tastes the skin beneath his jaw, and he can’t contain his shudders. 

She pushes his shirt up, kisses the spot over his heart. Closes her teeth around his nipple and nibbles, like turnabout equals fair play. One of her hands slides down his belly, tangling in the hair below his navel, and he grunts in surprise as she tugs. Her tongue describes a leisurely circle on his pec, and it makes him moan.

“You have SO many muscles,” she says, unbuttoning the fly of his jeans, and his cock surges up to meet her hot, soft hand. She cups him tenderly, while he leaks pre-come; wondering just how he lost control this rapidly, when he has so much to SHOW her. His hands curl into her hair, protective around her skull. He wants to cherish her. He wants to lick her into orgasm for years, and he wants her to never stop stroking his dick.

“Let me go down on you,” he says, out loud, and shuts his eyes when she says, “I will if you will.”

“Top or bottom?” He barely recognizes his own voice.

Hers is fretful. “I don’t know! I’ve never done this before! Or ANYTHING interesting, sexually speaking. Which would I like better?”

“You get bottom,” he says, coaxing her onto her back. He eases her sweatpants down, and Jesus. The curve of her hips is extravagant, for such a tiny woman, and the hair between her legs gleams gold. He’s losing the thread; he can SMELL her, musky and damp, he’s always wanted her, his brain’s rapidly forgetting words. “I’m not gonna last, and I won’t freak you out by making you swallow.”

“Why shouldn’t I swallow?” she asks. She rises up on her elbows to watch, as he extracts his wallet, shoves off his jeans. Her eyebrows arch as she gets a good look at his dick, but all she says is, “Does it taste bad?”

He closes his eyes, tilts his head back. Emits a soft huff of frustration. He crawls up onto the table, looming over her in sixty-nine. “Just use your hands, and close your mouth over the end,” he advises. “I’m not going to move, even though I want to, because the last thing we need is you, choking. And BELIEVE me. Whatever you do or don’t do, it’s gonna feel fantastic. At this point, I might not even mind if you BITE.”

She surges up and takes hold of him, mouth engulfing the crown; and holy FUCK Lilly was right, this moment here is dreams coming true. He bends to her sex, licking experimentally over her clit, and she thrashes so hard he has to hold her down. He smiles, enjoying her flavor, salty-clean and sweet, like the essence of her nature. He sinks into bliss, exploring her cunt with fingers and tongue, while she sucks at him slowly, strokes with her hands. Pressure builds, hot and heavy, in his groin. He draws gently on her mons, trying to contain his moves, and abruptly there’s too much pleasure. He spills and she takes it, sucking ardently, and oh Jesus, Veronica. It’s never been this good.

He disengages and spins her, to get a better angle, then goes down in earnest; plumbing the depths of her sex with his tongue, circling her clit with a thumb. He finds her g-spot and teases it. She drenches him in response, gripping his hair too tight, writhing beneath his mouth. He replaces his tongue with his fingers, two, then three, increasing pressure as she growls “Harder!” She cries out and comes, violently, contractions like little earthquakes, breath in sobs.

He kisses her navel, dips his tongue inside. Licks the salty, sweaty spot between her breasts. He keeps fucking her with his fingers as he eases up beside her, very gently, in and out. She sighs and spreads her legs wide, opening her mouth to his.

“Mmmm,” he says, rubbing gently at her g-spot when the rhythmic clutching eases, prolonging the wave. He wants her to feel like he feels. Vulnerable and voracious. Never satisfied.

“Oh God,” she says, and surrenders, with full focus, the way she does everything. Her body’s a vibrating string, tautening as he plucks, and the power he has to please her is intoxicating.

She sags, gasping for air, and he removes his hand to let her rest, kissing the spot between her eyes. “OK?” he asks, after a while. She’s just lying there, shivering, lids shut tight.

“I don’t know,” she says, disarming and frank; she looks right at him, mouth quirking. His fearless Veronica, tough and smart, no mountain so high she’ll admit she can’t climb. “I just had an out-of-body experience. That was…wow, Logan. I’m nicknaming you DA VINCI.”

He feels himself smiling, goofy, stupid grin, all gratified ego and need and nerves. “Let’s get you warm and fed,” he says, climbing off the table, pulling her into his arms. She comes like a baby monkey, winding her limbs around him, and the sinking feeling spreads to his heart, aching tenderness. He cradles her close, and thinks, MINE.

If she runs again, he’s in so much fucking trouble.

XXXXX

He carries her to the couch, wraps her tenderly in the fleece throw, and kisses her cheek, which makes her close her eyes and sigh. Then he heads back to the kitchen to cook the eggs. After a while, it occurs to him that wandering around naked might make her nervous; it seems in-your-face, and un-Duncan. So he finds his jeans, drags them on, and goes back to plate the food. 

A few minutes later she trails into the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket, inscrutable. “I have a suitcase,” she says. “Which I left in the car, because I didn’t want to presume. Will you get it for me? My clothes are…” she waves a hand, dismissing the inference, and he smirks, inwardly. 

“Here,” he says, serving her a slice of frittata, a glass of juice. “Eat. Are your keys in your bag?”

“Left front pocket,” she says, and he nods. Kisses her nape, surreptitiously inhaling her fragrance, because he just can’t help himself.

She grabs his wrist, turns him to face her. Grasps his face in both hands, and yanks his mouth down to hers. The blanket gapes open, showing a secret valley of skin, and lust surges through him. It’s even worse, now that they’ve touched. The urge feels big and hungry enough to swallow him whole. “Thanks,” she says, mouth quirking. He curls his hands into fists, so he won’t tackle her.

He winks, instead, and saunters outside. The wind is cold against his bare chest, the cement icy on his feet, and he rubs a hand across his breastbone to warm himself as he minces to her car. It’s a blue Miata convertible. He smiles, imagining her behind the wheel, White Stripes cranked to 11, hair rumpled by the breeze. 

Logan extracts a red rolling bag from the trunk, slams it; turns to find his 60-year-old neighbor, clutching her paper and staring. He salutes her, flashing his cockiest grin, and heads back in. Reminds himself to warn Veronica they’ve been outed.

Veronica’s almost polished off a second slice, when he wheels into the kitchen, wolfing her food with typical single-mindedness. She pauses to watch as he rolls to a stop, and spins the suitcase, in flourish. 

“We both need more clothes, if you expect me to focus on food,” she says, eyeing him.

“Fair enough,” he says, and kneels at her feet. He unzips the bag, paws through, raising his brows at all the lacy underthings. He finds a yellow tank with a sunrise-palm decal, and lifts it out, trailing his thumb over the pattern. He stretches the shirt between his hands, and she extends her arms so he can dress her. 

He pulls it on, shoving the blanket away, smoothing it over her skin; and her tits look so pretty, pressed against the fabric, he can’t resist. He opens his mouth over one, drawing the nipple between his teeth, tasting clean cotton, smelling her. He tugs her to the edge of the chair and switches to the other breast, and she laughs, breathy and amused. 

“Now this one’s wet too,” she says. He knows he ought to respond with something sarcastic and witty, but her legs are open, the blanket’s on the floor, and he could give a fuck about banter. He pushes her knees apart and licks into her, shouldering her thighs wide, and she gasps and laughs even harder. 

Her sex smells musky, secret, and he explores it slowly; learns her textures and taste and triggers, finds the spots that make her moan. She curls her heels around him, resting her feet on his back. It’s over fast; she comes with a deep whining sigh when he fucks her with his tongue, and brushes gentle hands over his hair. “I want to have sex now,” she says, as he kisses his way across her thigh. “I assume you have condoms, somewhere?”

He extracts his wallet, fumbles out a foil square, drops it on her outstretched palm, and quickly shucks his jeans. Veronica studies it for a minute, then tears it carefully open. She removes it from the packet and repeats her inspection; so he takes it away, rolls-it over his cock in a swift, one-handed stroke, and pulls her close to kiss her. She snorts like this is funny too, but manages self-control.

“You should see me pull a rabbit out of my hat,” he says, coaxing her gently from the chair. He reclines backwards onto the floor, and she settles atop, a light, damp weight across his thighs. Her tank’s still on, and he loves that; she’s his triple X California girl, golden hair spilling down from the red chip clip, eager and thoroughly debauched.

“After today’s performance, nothing would surprise me,” she says. She positions him precisely with one hand, and sinks carefully down. He squeezes his eyes shut as he’s partially engulfed, and she rocks him, tentative, in. 

He’s afraid to move; he’s never been with anyone this dainty and tight, and she’s having trouble adjusting. She squirms around, getting used to the feel, then pulls back and up in a hot, smooth glide that makes him groan. The return trip’s even better. 

“Oh GOD,” she says, and he forces himself to focus. 

He lifts his hands to her hips. His thumbs delve into her wetness, stroking shapes around her clit, and her breath comes faster. “You OK?” he asks as she continues the torment, excruciatingly slow. 

“This is WONDERFUL,” she says, demonstrating, her head falling back. Her throat is long and delicate, graceful. “I KNEW they were lying, when they said size didn’t matter! Am I doing things the way you like?”

He hisses in response; puts his last remaining braincells to work, rubbing her clit in time. She rides him with slow but devastating grace. Most girls, in his experience, find a pattern and stick to it, gradually speeding up, like they’ve seen on TV. But she’s using him to pleasure herself…and watching her find ways to unravel on his cock is amazing. 

He helps her discover favorites, matching his moves to hers. His reward is the full-body way she comes, beautifully uninhibited, with a delicate gasp and shudder. Her hands are spread flat for balance on his chest, and his balls draw up as she pants, flushed and hot. She smiles, that beautiful, dorky, triumphant grin that shows her upper gums. It’s the sweetest, prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He tugs the blanket over, folds it to cushion her, then tips her carefully onto her back. Shoves into her gently at first, then faster, when she doesn’t protest. Fuck, it’s sublime. Her hands and feet stroking him, her wet little fist of a cunt, clutching; he can’t take it, she’s perfect, he loves her. He wants her to smile at him like that, every day, forever, while she comes apart in his arms.

He falls.

He’s never had orgasms like these before, so complete and invested he almost blacks out. He’s numb to technique, unfazed by the best. But this. Her happiness, her mix of in-your –face confidence and inexperience. Her tenderness and attitude, and softness and abandon. Her. 

I love you, he mouths silently, against her hair, sliding sideways, trying to get his breath back. He knows he’s not supposed to say so out loud, but even THAT word feels insufficient. Worship. Adore. Cherish. He would lay his heart at her feet. 

He grimaces, where she can’t see, because it’s all so pathetic and maudlin. Dick Casablancas is right. He does make an ass of himself over girls, especially this one. And he knows better than to expect reciprocity.

XXXXX

She cuddles him for a minute, which, from her, is unexpected, pressing little kisses to the side of his face. But her natural briskness asserts itself eventually, and she gets up. He doesn’t.

She stands there, in her wrinkled, damp tank, staring down at him; she seems both exasperated and amused. She yanks the chip clip out of her hair, flings it away, and her hair swirls all around her. He throws an arm over his eyes. He can’t look. She’s too bright.

“Are you dead?” she asks, nudging him with a foot.

“Yes,” he says, not moving or looking. “I drank too much last night, and you’re the Typhoid Mary of incredible sex. You fucked me into the GROUND.”

“You know,” she says, “it’s the HEROINE who’s supposed to swoon, after the hero has his way with her. Then he sweeps her up in his big, manly arms, and carries her off to happily ever after. Or at least the four-poster-bed in his castle.”

“You could use the blanket to make a sled,” he suggests, and she kicks him again.

“Ow,” he says, grabs her foot, and kisses it. He focuses on her electric-blue toenails, massaging her arch with both thumbs. She sways a bit, trying to balance, and extends her arms to her sides. Clearly, she’s a fan.

“Logan, where’s your bedroom?” she asks, exasperated, but with a note of laughter. “I think we both need Gatorade and a nap, and I’d like to sleep on a SOFT surface this time.”

He hauls himself up and stands there, looking down at her. She smiles, sly and ornery as ever, and he shakes his head. “Your wish,” he says. Bends and gets her in a fireman’s carry, her hair dangling almost to his ankles. She laughs and wiggles, but he braces an arm across her thighs. 

Logan takes three steps to the fridge, extracts a couple Gatorades. Carries her upstairs to the Master With a View for which he paid an extravagant price. Lays her down gently, topples beside her, and presses both Gatorades into her grip. Closes his eyes.

She touches his cheek, stroking with her thumb, and he bands an arm around her, drawing her close. Instead of protesting, she slides one leg between his, throws the other over his hip. Folds her hands prayer-style against his breastbone, the Gatorades gripped between. Tucks her head beneath his chin again, kisses his collarbone, and lies still. The puffs of breath against his skin are rapid at first, but gradually slow. He’s worn her out. He wants to tell her to hydrate; but instead, he lies there and lets her sleep, enjoys not feeling lonely. 

Holding her relaxes him. She’s not safe, or sweet; she could destroy him with a word, and she WOULD, if given a reason. But she likes him, at the moment, so she’s docile in his arms. He can succumb to his love for her, without hating himself. He drifts on the peace of this freedom to feel, farther and farther into the subconscious sea.

Logan dreams of her in the sunshine, standing on a hill, smiling. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back, the wind billows through her hair. For the first time he can remember, she looks completely happy.

XXXXX

When he surfaces again, it’s dark outside the windows, and she’s spent some time awake. She’s wearing one of his torn grey workout shirts with—he lifts the hem—a see through pink g-string, and her hair’s in a chaste braid. She smells sweet and clean, and she’s snoring, just a little. Her arm’s flung up above her head; even in sleep, her personality overflows small spaces.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, gauging the stubble, decides to bathe and shave. Disentangling carefully, he covers her with a sheet, and pads off to the bathroom. He waits until the door’s shut before he turns on the light. 

Logan studies himself in the mirror. He’s bleary-eyed and his hair’s sticking straight up, except for a patch on the right that extends sideways. A quick armpit sniff confirms that he stinks, and his chest hair’s crunchy with salt-sweat; he’s got three thin red lines down his left pec, made by Veronica’s fingernails. He smiles, rubbing a hand over them. They didn’t sting, when he was inside her, but now there’s a faint, persistent burn.

Logan turns on the shower, shaves amid the steam, image disappearing in the slowly misting mirror. Washes slowly, beneath cascading water, nose wrinkled, eyes shut. He loves the warm, close comfort of his gold-tiled stall, the soft lights, the quiet. Loves feeling clean and safe, no scary surprises lurking in dark corners. He almost never brings people into his private space; human beings fuck up everything. They’re unexpected and clueless, greedy and cruel, and to be honest, he prefers his own company. He locks the door and goes out, when he needs sex or stimulation. Comes home and closes the blinds, for peace.

The shower door opens and Veronica climbs inside, hair still braided, wreathed in steam. She’s nude and dainty, both modest and not. He grins; she knows so well she’s the exception, she never bothers to knock.

She takes a seat on the bench, leans back against the wall. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she says, with a flirtatious lilt, picking up his loofah-on-a-stick. She runs it gently over the tops of her feet. “I like to watch hot guys soaping themselves. It’s a fetish.”

His smile gets bigger, crooked, and he squirts a dollop of shower gel into his hand. Rubs it, taunting, over his chest. Her eyes narrow in concentration, and she grips the loofah tightly. Bites her lip, as his hands slide down.

He soaps his balls slowly, his cock, it grows in his grip beneath her fascinated gaze. He tilts his head sideways, studying her, and she rises, abandoning her prop. Comes closer, plants her hands on his chest. Slips them down the way he did, and takes over the massage.

He lets her. Cups her face in his hand, and watches as she jerks him off, exploring gently. She’s focused and intent, determined to get an A. The thought makes him smile. She’d go for extra credit, if she could. 

“Show me,” she says, looking up into his eyes, and he demonstrates the motion he prefers. Squirts more soap onto her hands, as he’s washed clean. Her natural tendency is to hurry, be a bit rough, which he doesn’t mind; he likes her aggressive. He surrenders to it, the stroking and tugging, tracing down her throat to her breast, cupping it in his palm. He kneads, reaches up to knead the other, chases the water from her nipples with his thumbs; then he’s coming in her hands, with a soft moan. She goes on tiptoe to kiss him, and he keeps things gentle.

“You’ll be nice to sleep with, now,” she says, glancing up with a gleam. She leads him out of the shower, pats a towel all over his chest. “Relaxed and lazy and clean. I like that you shaved for me, too. I like everything you’ve done.”

He lets her lead him, still dripping, out of the bathroom, into the bed. He sprawls where she tugs him, accepts her weight as she snuggles close. Sinks slowly under again, his arms clasped around her.

XXXXX

When he wakes, it’s early morning, and the bed’s still damp.

She’s sleeping sprawled on top of him, a position she clearly likes, her hands curled possessively around his shoulders. He lies unmoving, luxuriating in the feel of her. Remembers her sly look beneath gold lashes, murmuring, “I like everything you’ve done,” imagines doing it all again. His hands lift from the mattress, settle on her ass; he sighs, wishing every moment felt this good.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, voice gravelly, and he startles…he had no clue she was awake. He tilts his head to meet her eyes. Their almond shape is exaggerated by drowsiness, and the right pupil, which wanders when she’s tired, is aimed just slightly off. It’s endearing, this one flaw in her otherwise pristine beauty. He feels his mouth quirking, and tries to remember what she said.

“Talk about what?” he asks, kneading the silky curved flesh beneath his hands. Her soft belly’s pressed to his dick, not conducive to conversational focus. Which is fine with him. He tends to alienate people, when he opens his mouth, and scathing sarcasm spills out.

“The Kane-sized elephant in the room,” she murmurs. He wonders if she’s worn out, or sore, or angsting, or tired; then just gives up, and lets her control the interaction. Veronica feels more comfortable when she’s in charge. And he’s pretty happy where he’s at, for the moment.

“No,” he says, because he doesn’t. “I have more interesting things to focus on than people we used to date.”

She laughs. “So it’s a non-issue? We’re us, they’re history, no lingering, hidden resentments?”

“ARE we an us?” he asks, shifting her so they can lock eyes. “And do YOU feel lingering resentments?”

“Are we NOT an us?” she asks, doubt clouding her face. She moves as if to climb off, but he holds her in place.

“If you want to be,” he says, gently. “YOU’RE the one who just got dumped. I’VE been single, and pining for you, for years.”

“Yeah, you pined your way through every hot girl in Southern California,” she says, toying with his chest hair. Her voice is deceptively light. “It was depressing to watch.”

“When the person you want doesn’t want you back,” he says, curling a loose strand of her hair around his finger, “you’ve got to do something, to fill the hole.”

She snorts. “I do something. YOU do SOMEONE. And for the record, I ALWAYS wanted you back.”

“Veronica,” he says. He’d rather drowse than fight, but he can’t let this statement stand. “You knew I wouldn’t steal Duncan’s girl. He was loyal to me when I was a fucked-up kid, and I will always return the favor. Next to him was the ONE spot you could stand, and be absolutely safe from my advances. 

“Either you stayed there because you loved him, or you HID there, because you were scared of me. I would have answered your whistle in a heartbeat, if you’d just once stepped away. You never did, though. HE left, instead.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re here, and not to get revenge. I hope you stick around. But let’s don’t spoil these golden moments, playing make-believe.”

“You think I’m lying?” she asks, and seems insulted. “Come on. You understand me better than anyone.”

He laughs. “Exaggerating is a better word. I have no doubt you fantasized, when you touched yourself in the dark. The last 24 hours have definitively proved you’re into me. But you didn’t want to cope with the whole ornery, demanding, issue-laden Echolls package. I’m the ‘experimental phase’, for a girl like you, not a guy you’d openly date.”

“That is…incredibly insulting,” she says, eyes narrowing, body tensing. He lifts his palms in a hands-off gesture—he doesn’t like to touch her when he’s angry—but she refuses to get up. “To BOTH of us.”

“Then prove me wrong,” he says. “Pick up that phone, right now, call Keith, and tell him I’m your boyfriend. Tell him you’ve loved me all along, and we’ll be together forever, and he needs to get used to me showing up on holidays. Tell him if you decide to have babies, they’re going to be mine.”

“After one night?” she demands, curling her hands around his wrists. Forcing him to meet her gaze. Because she knows, of course she knows, that he’d never get aggressive when she’s close enough to hurt.

“Hey you’re the one who wanted to TALK about FEELINGS,” he says. “I was perfectly happy to spend the whole weekend fucking, and never once have this conversation.”

“I have seldom desired you LESS than I do right this second,” she snaps. “You’re being an ASSHOLE.”

He favors her with his most dickish smirk, and considers saying, “Then you should get OFF me.” But he doesn’t want her to move. So instead he quips, “What? Those are my feelings. You don’t like them, you shouldn’t have asked.”

“Hand me the phone,” she says, lips pressed flat. She sits up on top of him, his dainty, vengeful goddess; plants herself on his cock, and probably not by mistake.

He quirks a brow, but stretches his arm across the bed. Grabs his cell off the dresser, gives it over. She flips it open with a decisive snap, flashes him an insincere smile, and dials efficiently with both thumbs.

“Hey Dad!” she says, her face and voice filling with pep-squad cheer, her half-nasty smirk turning genuine. “How’s your Very Padres Christmas scheme progressing?”

She nods, listening to the answer, and nibbles the corner of her soft, lush mouth; this threatens to devastate the stand he’s taking. “You do remember this holiday’s actually about Jesus?” she says, and listens some more, while he tries to hide his smile.

“Yeah, it’s actually Logan’s phone,” she tells Keith, responding to a question. “Logan Echolls, remember? I invited him to Christmas dinner, as usual, and this year he’s going to come!” She wrinkles her nose adorably, as Keith responds, probably cursing his name. Says, “He’s a good person, Dad. And I really like him. So bear that in mind, if you want the truly mind-bending gift I’ve gotten you.” She shakes her head. “No, better than Santana.” Grins. “Better than Padres Training Camp, too. You’ll see. OK I love you, dad. And be NICE, on Christmas, or you’ll have me to reckon with.” 

She closes the phone, tosses it off the bed, and looks down at him, calculating. “Now you have no choice but to show,” she says. “That’ll teach you to shoot your mouth off, and make me mad.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “I love the way your upper lip curls, when you’re about to go for my throat.”

Her jaw tics to one side, considering. She draws her nails across his nipples, like she’s flexing her claws. Bends to suck a hickey onto his neck and he wants to laugh, so much, but he knows she’d be offended. So he just sighs happily, and prepares to do battle.

She bites his pec gently, glances up to gauge his response, and he says, “So we’re playing rough, this time?”

“YOU made me want this,” she accuses, scraping her teeth down his midline, along the fine trail of hair. He shivers; she’s not hurting him, really, but the feral quality of her actions is sexy as fuck. “When you get all loungy and mocking and confrontational, I feel like BITING you.”

She licks into his navel, the same way he did her, the day before. He has a minute to think, ‘quick learner’ before her lips press, exploratory, against his balls. She tastes him, soft and experimental; he says, “Bite there, and you’ll be driving me to the hospital.”

She runs her tongue up his cock, applies suction to the head, and he hates to call a halt; but letting her LITERALLY lead him around by the dick sets a bad precedent. “See, this is why you dated Duncan, in a nutshell…even though he couldn’t handle one TENTH of the force of nature you are. You insist on being in control, ALL the time. And idiots like him LET you, because they think it will make you happy.”

“So you’re NOT enjoying this blow job?” she asks, releasing him with a pop, and glaring. “Because you sure liked the LAST one a lot.”

“If I wanted to be serviced, I’d pay a hooker,” he says, and smirks, because that did the trick. “Relationships, the kind that involve Christmas at the Mars house, are RECIPROCAL. Yesterday, when you sucked me off, YOU came, too.”

She studies him, a guarded look easing over her face, and he adds, “You don’t get to tame me, and put me in a collar, Veronica. If you want to get together, we’re both in it, vulnerable. You need to accept that I’m not like Duncan; I prefer to take turns, being on top.”

“You think that’s what I want?” she demands. “To TAME you?”

“No,” he says. “If you succeeded, you’d completely lose interest. But I think you’re TRYING for the upper hand, right now. Because the fact that I have power over you feels scary.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she says, and it sounds like a dare.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he says. “But I WILL take you apart like a puzzle, and learn everything that pleases you. Discover all your secrets, get REALLY good at making you come. If you stay with me, I won’t let you hide; and I won’t let you bully me, either. THAT’s why you’re scared.”

“What are you trying to prove?” she demands. “You asked for dinner with my dad, and I made it happen. You’re pushing very hard, very fast, and Logan? It’s a little freaky.”

He smiles. “Informed consent,” he says. “You want to devour me, I want to devour you. You’ve been walking away from that truth for ten years; I won’t be shocked if you do it again. I’m not playing romance novel hero, though, Veronica, and sweeping aside your protests with impassioned kisses. You choose me soberly, with full knowledge, if you’re going to choose me. You read every word of the fine print, and sign on the dotted line.”

They stare at each other as she recognizes, and processes, this ultimatum. Expressions flit across her face like flickers of lightning; little windows into the twists of her brilliant mind. His belly muscles tighten, as he braces for the result.

“I don’t like that you know my body better than I do,” she says, unexpectedly disarming. “It makes me feel embarrassed and dorky, and inexperienced and immature.”

“I don’t like that you’re constantly poised on the threshold, with one foot out the door,” he says. “I HATE knowing anything I do or say, that’s SLIGHTLY outside your comfort zone, will make you bolt. So I’m not playing that game this time.” She still hasn’t left, so he traces a finger across her cheek, down her throat. “But for the record, there is NOTHING dorky or immature about you. You’re beautiful, and passionate, and exciting, and hot as hell. I love the way you touch me. We’re in the discovery phase right now, anyway. We both have to learn each other, that’s how good sex works.”

“I’m not Lilly,” she says, softly. “Or any of the other exotic beauties who’ve paraded through your bedroom.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re just as pretty as all of them, but YOU actually care.”

She tilts her head, considering, and then kisses him, intense and invested, both hands gripping his jaw. The knot in his gut unravels, and he feels like crying; he was sure standing up for himself would mean it was the end. He flips her beneath him to underscore his point. Presses kisses to the spot behind her ear, the long, sweet line of her throat.

“I’ll never scare you or hurt you,” he says, fervent. “I only want to please you. I only want us to trust each other, and for you to choose to stay.”

“Logan,” she says, as he circles her nipple with his tongue, sliding a hand into the curls between her legs. She’s wet, and he closes his eyes at the pleasure of stroking her, drawing soft gasps from her lungs. “Reciprocity, remember? I want to please you, too.”

He takes her hand, puts it on his cock, and they pant and caress together, sharing messy kisses, seeking lust and heat. She comes fast—she LOVES his fingers, inside her—so he fumbles in the nightstand for a condom. “You pick,” he says, donning it. “Any position or activity you want.”

She considers, pulls him to sit, and climbs astride, winding her arms around his neck. “I like to watch your face,” she says, breathless, taking him in with delicate moves. “It’s so expressive. It shows all your thoughts.”

“What’s it showing now?” he asks, pushing sweaty hair back from her brow. He knows—he’s never hidden anything from her, indefinitely—but he wants her to say the words.

Her pale brows contract as he shifts her to a better angle, slides two fingers around her clit. Her mouth falls open, her breath gets rapid, and she makes a purr-growl in the back of her throat that thrills him. She takes him deep, flat against her cervix, a move some girls find painful; then contracts all around him in complete abandon, teeth bared. 

His orgasm is luxurious, swamping. It pulls strange noises from him, and he holds her through the storm, folding her slender body close. He wishes he could make this moment last forever, but that’s fantasy. She’s real.

She laughs as she recovers, a dangerous and abandoned look in her eye and says, “Your face tells me I’ve got everything you need.”

“Mmmm, you do,” he says, and kisses her mouth, greedily exploring the soft interior. “And angel? You’re the only one.”

XXXXX

They’re eating sandwiches and watching Jeremiah Johnson on cable, when the pounding at the door begins. They glance at each other, silently agree to ignore it; she’s still in his t-shirt plus a fresh pair of undies, and he’s in Batman boxers. Neither of them wants company.

The doorbell rings, a long, continuous bleat; when Logan still doesn’t get up, his cell starts to chime from its nest of blankets on the bedroom floor. He sighs. 

“Take your suitcase in the guest room and get dressed,” he says, kissing her forehead. “We both know who’s out there. And no way will she leave until her curiosity’s satisfied.”

Veronica kisses his chin and strides off to the kitchen, where her suitcase lies open, clothes spilling out. She returns a moment later, wheeling it, tosses his jeans from yesterday at his head. He winks at her, donning them. Waits until the lock engages, before he answers his summons.

“What?” he demands, swinging the door open, impatience writ large on his face. He knows he’s intimidating, bare-chested and big. But Lilly just considers him, pursed mouth twisting sideways; then breaks out in smiles, and pushes past. 

“SOMEONE’S been playing rodeo,” she says, with a pointed glance at his chest. “Were you the cowboy, or the horse?”

“You give your key away, you forfeit the right to barge in,” he counters, crossing his arms and eyeing her with disfavor. “Was there something you wanted, or are you just here to snoop?”

“Both!” she says, with a grin and delighted wiggle. She’s in a peasant blouse and jeans, her hair twisted into mildly pervy Heidi braids. She clasps her hands, prayer-style, beneath her chin, pressing index fingers to her lips. “Where’s my other BFF? We have SO MUCH to discuss!”

Logan opens his mouth to dissemble, but Veronica calls out, “Here, Lilly,” closing the guest room door with a thud. She’s donned jeans, too, beneath a soft red sweater that drapes off one shoulder. Her feet are bare, and she’s done her hair in Princess Leia cinnamon buns, which is so fucking adorable he just can’t. The torn workout shirt that still smells like her is slapped into his palm, and he tugs it obediently on, studying her face. He doesn’t even care if he looks like a sap. 

Veronica crosses her arms, mirroring him, fixes Lilly with her Goddess of Judgment glare. “I have a bone to pick with you,” she says. “You used something I told you in confidence, while drinking Schnapps, to play poor Logan like a violin. He was drunk and SAD when I showed up, Lilly! How COULD you? You KNOW how he gets, when he feels like we don’t love him!”

“I AM standing here,” Logan interjects, but both girls ignore him.

“It WORKED, didn’t it?” Lilly says with a shrug, unrepentant as usual. “HOW long have the two of you been circling each other, yearning? When Veronica Mars gets drunk, and cries over the boy who’ll never love her, it’s time for DESPERATE MEASURES.”

“You cried?” Logan asks, softening, and Veronica huffs exasperation. 

“ONE TEAR, Lilly! One! You are such an exaggerator! I’m starting to worry about the REST of our ‘plan’ at this point.” She makes air quotes to punctuate. “I hope you didn’t take me seriously about Duncan, too.”

“Oh, but I DID!” Lilly widens her eyes, unleashes her chaos-in-progress Smirk of Doom. “The article went out in this morning’s paper. Celeste has been calling me non-stop ALL DAY.”

“Do I even want to know?” Logan asks, fatalistic. Veronica’s buried her face in her hands, so he’s sure it’s something terrible.

“Just a blind item,” Lilly says, airily. She traces a finger over the scratches on Logan’s pec, like she can see them through the shirt, and spins off into the living room. “Sent by some vengeful soul to my mother’s favorite gossip column. Which son of a dead movie star, and fun-loving software socialite, are having a hot and heavy threesome with their childhood best friend? Who’s ALSO the recent ex of the heiress’s politics-bound relative?” She laughs with delight at the scandal, and adds, “I’ve been commanded to attend a damage control summit in one hour. I’m bringing you two along, to make it more fun.”

Logan tries not to smile. He tries, because Veronica’s upset; but he’s got the woman he wants, his best friend’s happy about it, and Lilly stuck it to Duncan for hurting Veronica. Not only can he picture Celeste’s face…but he gets to go over there, and put his arms around his girls, and say a big, fat fuck you to those who think he doesn’t deserve them. The scenario is irresistible. He and Lilly lock eyes, brief but total accord; he composes himself, though, before Veronica sees.

Lilly pries Veronica’s hands from her face, manfully (womanfully?) taking the lead. “Think how fun it would be to see Celeste sweat,” she coaxes, batting guileless big eyes. “Remember ALL the times she made you feel inferior, and Duncan didn’t lift a hand. You can play a character, like you do when you solve cases. You can be the FEMME FATALE!”

Veronica looks doubtfully at Logan; he can tell she’s tempted, so he grins. Her mouth relaxes into a rueful curve. “You’re in favor of this,” she says, certain.

“Duncan’s my friend and all,” Logan agrees, smile widening. “But as I said when you first showed up; he’s a fucking idiot, for not clinging tight with both hands. And I was WASTED, so you KNOW I meant it.”

Veronica studies him, head tilted, then turns to address Lilly. “Should Logan groom himself, and dress like a slick seducer? Or show up messy, to prove he doesn’t give a damn?”

“Oooh!” Lilly considers, be-ringed thumb stroking her lower lip. “Tight white t-shirt like Paul Newman, with cigarettes rolled in the sleeve? Maybe pomade in his hair?”

“Your mother DOES know how I normally dress,” Logan says, but they’re having fun and he’s happy, so who cares?

“Operation Maternal Aneurysm, Phase One,” Lilly decides, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the stairs. “Let’s see what materials are available.”

Veronica follows, a purposeful glint in her eye. Logan knows the smackdown will be epic, now that she’s decided to mastermind.

XXXXX

The girls settle on Surf Douche, an archetype Celeste is known to loathe. Veronica locates a threadbare brown OP tee at the back of his drawer; it no longer fits, which they argue is a point in its favor. They pair it with jeans and the flip flops he wears in the gym shower; then dig puka shells out of his steamer trunk, and put six tons of gel in his hair.

It feels like a Halloween costume. He tries to demand parity, by insisting they wear minis and Keds, but that doesn’t fly. “Femmes Fatales wear HEELS, Logan,” Veronica explains, matter-of-fact. But she does change into a pencil skirt, and sky-high Mary Janes, produced by Lilly from her Mobile Emergency Wardrobe. And she lets him kiss her and slide his hands up underneath, while Lilly’s on the phone. So he’s not disposed to complain.

The girls giggle as they vamp out to the nines; Logan lounges in the corner, trying to make them laugh. Between the clothes and this old, familiar ritual, he feels transported back to junior high, the warm safety of Lilly’s pink bedroom. Furtive intimacies promised, at some point in the evening, spiced by the thrill of maybe getting caught. He gazes at Veronica’s red-lipped, laughing face, reflected in the mirror, and imagines pushing the black skirt up, past the curve of her hips. Hooking a finger in the red-lace g-string beneath, drawing it slowly down…

Veronica’s eyes meet his in the glass, and she smirks, knowing. Logan doubts his role this afternoon will require much acting.

Lilly’s expertly crafting what she calls ‘a smoky eye’ when Veronica abruptly turns, hip propped against the counter. She surveys him critically. “You know what?” she asks, stalking over on her heels; she places both palms flat against his chest. “This is all wrong.” She goes up on tiptoe, removes the necklace, and Lilly spins with a startled, “Hey!”

“No, seriously,” Veronica insists, wetting her hands in the sink, and running them through his hair, rinsing the gel away. “Logan’s plenty hot, exactly the way he is. He doesn’t need an act to make someone fall in love. He should dress like his normal, provocative self, if we want this ruse to work.”

Logan smiles down at Veronica; Lilly huffs exasperation, and probably rolls her eyes. “I’d kiss you,” he says, ignoring the peanut gallery. “But your lipstick’s too pretty to muss.”

“I can put it on again,” Veronica offers. He grins, and bends to her mouth.

XXXXX

Duncan’s personal assistant Ivy answers the door, cluing Logan in that this is less a family summit, and more a public image scandal-scotcher. He rolls his eyes; one good thing about his orphaned state is the lack of media circuses. 

Ivy’s a mousy 27-year-old with a genius for organization…probably she’s in love with Duncan, she’s the type to harbor Ken-doll fantasies. Her gaze falls on Lilly, who’s got an arm wrapped around Veronica. Skitters over Logan, behind them in his shiniest blue button-down, thumbs tucked in his back pockets. He smirks; her mouth falls open, snaps shut. 

Poor Ivy. He should get Lilly to buy her a Magic Wand for Christmas, and label it ‘from Duncan’. Maybe a few orgasms would help.

“Mommy Dearest!” Lilly shouts, and Ivy points with her clipboard towards the den, jerky and hesitant. Lilly sails past her, dragging Veronica in her wake; Logan saunters after. “You summoned, I appeared! And I brought reinforcements!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Celeste bites out as they round the corner; Logan trails behind, to better catalog the lay of the land. The grande dame’s donned her battle armor, immaculate lemon-yellow Chanel and ladies-who-lunch diamonds, which makes him glad he’s here to draw fire. 

Celeste drums her hundred-dollar manicure on the wet bar, considering them, and Logan could swear the room gets colder. “Lilly, are you TRYING to ruin your brother’s prospects? There are PAPARAZZI outside! Now they have PHOTOGRAPHS!”

Duncan lurks by the window, arms crossed; he’s donned that particular off-putting stare that means he’d rather be elsewhere. He doesn’t greet Veronica, Logan notices, and Veronica clearly does too. Beneath Lilly’s arm, her small body stiffens, and her hands curl into fists. Logan rests a palm on her nape, to show solidarity, and she relaxes a fraction.

“I’m not allowed to invite friends over?” Lilly asks, in the butter-wouldn’t-melt tone that makes Celeste ballistic. She curls feline on the couch, pulling Veronica down beside her. “This ridiculous prank you think is so life-ruining involves them, too. If you’re planning to throw them to the wolves, just to scotch some blind item, they deserve to know.”

“Oh, spare me.” Celeste rolls her eyes. Steps behind the bar, pours a few fingers of vodka into a glass, and throws it back. “You’ve corrupted these two for your own amusement since childhood; they’ve been running with wolves for years. Duncan’s still respectable ONLY because I intervened.”

Logan shoots Duncan a smirk as he saunters around the armchair, elicits a scowl in response. It’s a relief. The Donut’s affect goes flat when he’s drugged out of his mind. Displays of emotion, however obnoxious, mean he hasn't gone hulk-smash recently.

“What’s the purpose of all this drama?” Logan asks idly, stopping in front of the couch. Lilly slides over, grinning, when he gestures with his head; he sprawls between the girls, extends his crossed legs full length, and spreads both arms along the back. Fixes Celeste with a stare that won’t faze the Iron Maiden, but SHOULD. “The columnist didn’t name names. It’s not like the illustrious members of the press know the TRUTH.” 

He trails a finger, taunting, up Lilly’s throat to underscore his point. Veronica cuddles against him, and he curls an arm around her, eyes still locked with Celeste’s. Hers narrow—God, her icy blue glare rivals her son’s—and she calls “Mitch!” in clipped tones.

A besuited shyster with pomaded hair unfolds from the buffet, where he’s been discreetly leaning. He favors Logan with a fake-sincere smile—but Logan knows this type like he knows early morning waves, there’s nothing honest lurking behind it. “Mr. Echolls, with all due respect. The public doesn’t care about the truth. People who buy tabloids believe every bit of gossip they read. Branding and image maintenance are critical, especially when considering a career in politics. And this particular rumor…well, it could hurt Mr. Kane’s brand.”

“We’re trying to BUILD something here!” Celeste growls, advancing on her daughter. “A family name that will last for generations. A dynasty, so we can make the world a better place. The only thing we ask of you is discretion, but you can’t STAND not being the center of attention. Your petty, ego-driven theatrics will ruin everything!”

“Careful, Celeste,” Logan warns, squeezing Veronica’s arm to pre-empt her retort. “Like Mitch said…I’m VERY well aware of what the public will believe. I’ve been playing PR games since I was old enough to talk, so I’m BETTER at them than you. You want me scoring points for your team instead of the opposition? The disrespect for my two favorite girls ends RIGHT NOW.”

“Was that a THREAT?” Celeste demands, enraged. She takes several steps towards Logan, hand poised to slap, before collecting herself. 

The internal flinch is automatic; even now, as a grown-ass man, he fears an angry open hand. But he was raised by actors and he knows how to front, so he doesn’t shift from his lounge. “Of course it was,” she answers herself. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Your parents were trash who rose above their station, and even THEY saw you as a disappointment.”

“And THAT’S why I’m dangerous,” Logan drawls, silky, although this accusation makes his gut knot. “Baiting the press is a GAME to me. I don’t have a SHRED of reputation to lose.”

“Logan is NOT trash,” Veronica snaps, and he tries to squeeze her silent again, but she’s too furious to listen. “Lilly is NOT petty. And I know where every single one of your NUMEROUS skeletons are buried, Mrs. Kane. So you should drop the stick now, and pick up the carrot, or this farce of a ‘summit’ is over.”

“Why are you DEFENDING them, Veronica?” Duncan throws up his hands, like the defection of his staunchest supporter is a bridge too far. “It’s CRAZY that you’re involved in this ridiculous stunt! You’re a rational, sensible person!”

“Who says it’s a stunt?” She sends Duncan a narrow-eyed look and crosses her legs aggressively, resting a hand on Logan’s thigh. Her skirt rides up, and Logan grins; Veronica with sex appeal set to kill is well nigh irresistible. “I spent years repressing every urge I had, helping you build your dynasty…I guess my libido exploded from the strain. And you know what’s weird? Ever since I gave in and embraced my inner seductress, I have been SO, SO HAPPY!”

“Oooh, Veronica!” Lilly eyes the expanse of stocking clad thigh with amusement. “You are HOT when you taunt people! I should take you as my plus one to all the high-society functions; we can make out and scandalize the entire 09.”

“You guys can NOT do this,” Duncan protests, with the mingled apprehension and disfavor that characterize his sibling relationship. “This is just…it’s just…” more hand waving, “UNACCEPTABLE!”

“Because why?” Lilly twirls a finger through the hair at Logan’s nape, making him flinch and smile, because it tickles. “Like Veronica said, we’re just having fun. What’s wrong, Donut? Are you jealous?”

“Of COURSE not,” Duncan shouts, exasperated. “But Veronica doesn’t DO these things. Especially not with girls. Or LOGAN!”

“You moved on,” Logan points out. He toys with the bra strap revealed by Veronica’s off-the-shoulder sweater, flashes Duncan the smile sensible people dread. “Why shouldn’t she?”

“She SHOULD.” Duncan sighs; he clearly thinks he's the sole voice of reason. “But not THIS way. Your ARRANGEMENT, or whatever you call it….”he waves an arm to encompass the three of them on the couch, “…well, it’s sordid.”

“Oh, but selling your hand in marriage for votes and clout isn’t?” Logan shakes his head. “Dude, where’s your loyalty? I have always loved these girls and I always will, and I am genuinely not ashamed of that. And whatever form that love takes, in whatever combination…well, it’s really not any of your business, since we’re being FRANK, here.”

Lilly kisses his shoulder and puts her head on it, and his smile gets more genuine. He puts his arm around her, and rubs her hip, reassuring. Veronica twines his other hand in hers. He kisses the back, lips lingering, and that’s when Celeste snaps.

“I have had ENOUGH!” she snarls. “You put a stop to this offensive theater at once, Lilly, or I’ll be forced to take steps. You don’t come into your inheritance until you’re thirty. It’s not too late for your father and I to change the terms!”

“Go right ahead,” Lilly shrugs. “I’ll get a job. For Cosmo, maybe. Writing those articles that are so popular…’Crotchless Panties—a Buyer’s Guide’?” She flutters her lashes, then shows steel. “Veronica and I made a deal; we’re not repeating mistakes of our youth, regardless of the consequences.”

“A public threesome doesn’t count as a MISTAKE?” Duncan demands, with an exasperated flail.

“When we were sixteen,” Veronica says, fixing him with a look that should, in fact, kill, “Logan’s mother committed suicide. One of those events that you consider a trashy scandal, and the rest of us see as a tragedy. He called you, and Lilly, because he needed his friends, but the two of you weren’t around. Do you remember why? Celeste had exiled you both to Spain for a month, so your family wouldn’t be tainted by association. 

“Then Logan called me, and I DID try to help, but things became so passionate, so fast. He told me he loved me, and even though I wanted him to, even though I loved him back, I was scared. Adults had always drilled into me how important it was to be good, and ‘nice’ and ‘normal’. So I ran, back into the arms of the future President here, and that’s a choice I DEEPLY regret.

“The year between Lynn’s suicide and Aaron’s murder was the hardest of Logan’s life… and he had NO ONE to stand by him, unless you count a string of sketchy lovers. Not only does he not bear a grudge, though; he’s sitting right here, between two people who let him down, doing his best to protect us both. 

“So a couple nights ago, Lilly and I made a deal. We’re investing our energy in those who deserve it, and we’re done trying to please people who don’t. We side with each other and Logan now, no matter what happens. We tell the truth about how we feel, even when it’s scary. And if someone comes after one of us, we ALL fight back.

“Now we’re not taking this stand to ruin Duncan,” she continues, squeezing Logan’s hand as he stares, his guts jelly. She glances his way and her face softens into a smile; he must look like he wants to devour her. “We all fondly remember a time when Duncan used to care. But we certainly CAN do those things, if you try to force our hand. Quit bullying Lilly, Celeste. Stay out of our love lives, and scotch whatever humiliating acts of penance you planned to demand. Respect us, we won’t embarrass you. Continue this telenovela tantrum? You have NO IDEA how much carnage we can cause.”

Celeste crosses her arms, tapping her foot as she studies them. Logan’s gaze slides to Duncan, working a similar pose, and he’s shocked by the resemblance. Veronica has spent the last ten years coping, daily, with their tag-team disapproval. She’ll need every scrap of warmth he can muster, to melt off all that ice.

“This is what comes of letting you drag home strays,” Celeste tells Lilly, brittle and uncowed. “I should have sent the two of you to boarding school in Switzerland. Jake’s nonsense about public school making Duncan a man of the people has caused nothing but grief. Nobody who gets elected to high office in America is a man of the people, anyway.”

She waves a dismissive hand and stalks out. Logan lifts his eyebrows at Mitch. His girls may not be clear on who’s in charge of this fiasco, but Logan is. “So that’s a yes to Veronica’s proposal?”

“Obviously, we want you cooperative,” Mitch says mildly, seating himself on the arm of a chair. “Which one of these women are you actually seeing?”

“The blonde,” Logan says, with a dangerous grin, and Lilly snorts, to his right. 

“Perhaps a few traditional dates with the blonde, then.” Mitch smiles, unfazed. No doubt he’s dealt with plenty of assholes over the course of his career. “Somewhere photographer-friendly. While the unattached party socializes in a different location.”

“I’ll discuss it with the blonde,” Logan says. “And hire an image consultant, and have him call you.”

“Fair enough.” Mitch nods. “And FYI, since you’re all so mutually protective? It would be better, from a PR standpoint, if the blonde were Miss Mars. We can construct a narrative complementary to all parties, about how she and Mr. Kane have both found true love. You know the drill.”

“As intimately as I know my own hand,” Logan says. He smiles down into Veronica’s eyes, she smiles back; it’s possible he looks as besotted as he feels, but who cares? “That plan will not prove cumbersome.”

“Excellent,” Mitch says, standing and dusting off his hands. “I’ll wait for your representative’s call.”

“Well THAT was fun,” Logan says, watching Mitch deftly rouse Ivy from her scandalized stupor, and lead her away. He hops up, turns, and extends his hands for Veronica and Lilly. They each take one, rise; he spins them both in, kisses Lilly on the temple. “If Celeste tries to fuck with your money, come to me, and I’ll put my lawyers on her.” 

“I’ll go to DADDY,” she tells him, with a lift of her brows. “He’s saved me every other time she’s made this threat, he’ll do it again. But truly, Logan. Thanks for caring.” 

He grins at her. “You know I always will. Whether you deserve it, or not.”

“Of course!” she says, with a flip of her hair. “Like you could resist me. I’m fabulous!” She curls her hand around Veronica’s wrist, and flashes a significant glance at Duncan’s back, which Logan has no trouble interpreting as ‘fix things’. “Come on, Ronica. I want to show you my etchings, before you go.”

Logan studies Duncan, who’s staring out the window, as they walk away. His role in the new power triad seems to be diplomat, which he finds hilarious; he’s pretty much retired the fists, but still gets his way using attitude. 

It’d be good to muster some, give Duncan the dressing down he deserves; but Logan’s words come out more like a plea. “Man, you need to love Lilly and Veronica better than this. You’re supposed to be the token nice one in our foursome.”

“Who says I don’t love them?” Duncan glances at Logan, brief spear of icy blue, then away. “My engagement to Shelby is about politics, not feelings. Maybe I just got tired of dodging my fate.”

“It’s only your fate if you quit fighting,” Logan counters; the way the Kanes railroad their son towards Congress always makes him sad. 

“Not all of us want to be rebels, Logan.” Duncan studies the treeline as the sky darkens outside. “My fiancée may not love me, but at least she’s not pining for you. Which, honestly, makes things easier. I handle my…problem better when I don’t care enough to get upset.”

“Dude,” Logan says, appalled. “You can’t shut down your emotions forever. That’s no way to live.”

“Man, I know you mean well, here. But my primary emotion right now is relief. I felt really guilty about ditching Veronica, even thought I knew it was best, until I heard what the three of you were up to. And now I’m just….glad. If she’s THAT kinky, we’re not compatible, and marriage would have been a disaster. As it stands, she can enjoy whatever weird stuff makes her happy…and I won’t have to feel like a failure anymore for not liking it, too.”

“Wow,” Logan says, because turned-on Veronica is the first item on his Christmas list; and getting her there, by any means necessary, is half the fun. “Well, I’m not crazy about the way you did it, but thanks for cutting her loose. We’ll try to keep our happiness out of range of your innocent ears. And you can send us a benevolent wave, from your shining city on a hill.”

The corner of Duncan’s mouth curves, a little. “Will do. And YOU have fun partying down in the mud.”

“Count on it.” Logan grins, oozing insinuation. He bumps Duncan’s shoulder with his, because weirdly, he understands. Disgust and detachment are Donut’s tools for coping, when his hands are completely tied.

Logan watches his ex-best-friend for a minute, as Duncan stares out the window, yearning towards his dry vanilla future. And then he leaves.

XXXXX

His girls are in the foyer whispering when he approaches. And maybe he’s as cowardly as Duncan, because their plots fill him with dread. He smiles, though, because they love him; so he wholly embraces his fate.

The three of them walk outside, into the balmy night, and Veronica hugs Lilly tightly. “I love you Lil,” she says, patting her friend’s back. They sway together for a moment, in sync. They’re so different, the heiress and the sheriff’s daughter; but the fierce unexpectedness of them meshes.

“I love you too,” Lilly tells her, flashing a grin Veronica can’t see. “And I’m glad you FINALLY see the genius behind my unorthodox but effective methods.”

“No argument here,” Veronica’s voice is warm. “I felt like a proud mama bear, watching you take that bitch down.”

Lilly emerges from Veronica’s embrace and shoos her; tugs Logan down to kiss his cheek, engulfing him in her scent. It’s comfortable and familiar, the grassy tang of her sweat, the lush notes of Chloe. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she whispers into his ear. Her eyes dance as she disengages. 

He rolls his. “IS there anything you wouldn’t?” 

“I guess you’ll never knooo-ooow,” she taunts. Pats his arm and turns to saunter off, with a coy finger wave over one shoulder. He laughs and shakes his head. The one and only Lilly Kane. 

Veronica’s reclining against his blue BMW, watching him, in a pose that mimics his personal lean; she’s got one knee bent, heel propped on the tire. He looks down at her, wisps of hair falling from her cinnamon buns, red, red lips. The memory of his bathroom-counter fantasy slides through him, coalescing heavy in his groin.

He plants a hand beside her on the roof, bends his face close. “THAT was fun,” he says, brushing his lips against her ear. She shivers, and he burns.

“SO much,” she agrees, voice husky, and darts up to kiss him, tongue eager, lips avid. He’s surprised by her fervor, but adapts quickly. She twists against him, shoving close, grips his belt in both hands. “You were so loungy and vicious and hot, telling Celeste to fuck off. It made me CRAZY.”

He laughs into her mouth. With a flick of her wrist, she opens the door and pulls him in, scooting backwards along the bench like a spider luring a fly. He follows, crawling over her. One slender leg hooks around his ass; she pulls him down, wiggling to shove her skirt out of the way. 

Veronica’s panties are soaked, and he licks harder past her lips, loving the idea of fucking her in the Kanes’ driveway, loving even more that she thought it up. She pulls away and latches onto his throat, sucking a hickey there. Logan groans and cups her ass in his hand, grinding them together.

“You really want to do this HERE?” he asks, praying she’ll say yes.

“Celeste wanted proof we’re dating. What could be more traditional and definitive than a furtive quickie in the driveway, right where ANYONE might see?” She smirks, and he falls yet more hopelessly in love. “Maybe this isn’t the solution she’d prefer, but since when do we give a damn?”

He grins, executing a taunting roll of his hips. “Lilly’s evil genius at work again?”

“Mmmm, no comment.” She hisses through clenched teeth as her head falls back. “Just get inside me RIGHT NOW, and fuck me like you mean it. I can’t STAND it when you tease!”

She yanks at his shirt and he helps her pull it over his head, extracts his wallet. “I dunno, Veronica. There’s a lot of evidence here that you’re fibbing.” He pushes her knee sideways to increase contact as he fumbles out a condom one-handed, drops the wallet on the floor. Her growl echoes through the car as she writhes against his cock; he kneels up to undo his pants, sheathes himself as they fall. 

Logan lies down to one side of her, balancing his jaw on his hand. Slides a finger into her soaking-wet panties, toys with her clit. She makes a whining sound, squeezing her own tits hard; Jesus, she wasn’t kidding, she’s primed to explode. Dropping one last soft kiss on her mouth, he tucks her g-string to one side, and goes in. She comes immediately with a series of cries, digging the heel of her shoe into his thigh.

“Easy,” he says, and strokes deep. She matches him, eager, her legs twining through his. Logan shoves the sweater up and tongues her nipple out of the red lace bra, licks it gently as he fucks her. Kisses her chin, does the same to the other breast, and wow. She looks like every fantasy he’s ever had, her face flushed pink, her gold hair spilling loose as her head thrashes. His thrusts gain speed and force, he tries to contain it…but she’s so tight and eager, and he wants her so much. 

“Ohhhhhh,” she says, on a sigh, as he gives in and pounds her. Her nails curl into his biceps, hard enough to sting, her knees pull towards her chest; her luxurious orgasm strikes just after his, amplifying pleasure into ecstasy. 

He pants like he’s run a marathon, trying desperately to support his own weight. Her eyes open, focus; she analyzes, calculates, solves. Veronica shoves him against the seat, twists to clamber atop, and he collapses into semi-consciousness with a whine of relief. GOD, she’s amazing in bed. Private but oft-photographed driveway. Whatever. 

If Celeste calls the cops, and he goes to jail for public indecency, it will TOTALLY be worth it.

“We have to get out of here,” Veronica says, echoing his thoughts. Her voice is hoarse, and he wonders if he was too wrapped up in his dick to notice her screaming. She chuckles, a throaty rill, and a warm feeling spreads through his chest; he LOVES her laugh. “Wow, that was AMAZING. Jeez, Logan. I’m never letting you out of bed again.”

“Front seat,” he corrects… HIS voice is raspy, too. “Kane yard. Please GOD don’t let Duncan be peeping and jerking off, like I caught him doing once in junior high.”

“Ewwww, I forgot about that,” Veronica says, and actually giggles. She tucks her boobs away, pulls down her sweater, and bobs up to check the surroundings. “Nope, we’re good. There’s a gardener by the fountain, he probably saw the car rocking, but he’s not close enough to peek inside.” Deftly, she strips off the condom, knots it, and shoves it in the glove box. He’ll have to remember to extract that, later. “Maybe I’d better drive. Hand me your keys and get dressed, before I lose control and ravish you again.”

“Promises, promises,” he says, but manages to fasten his pants before he sits. She’s retrieved his shirt from the floor; but she’s staring instead of turning it right side out, so he winks at her. She straddles his lap, grabs his jaw with both hands, and kisses him until they run out of breath. He gazes at her soft pink naked mouth, and tries to care that he’s covered in lipstick.

“Drive,” he says, flashing a half-smile. “We need to make our getaway before the gardener’s curiosity overwhelms him.”

She peels away from the house at a brisk pace, scattering Paps, and speeds through the neighborhood; she’s clearly comfortable driving stick, and boy does he like that image. The car curves down the hill, towards the highway, and he asks, “Where are we going?”

“My apartment,” she says. “Unless you have plans? Something you need to do?”

“No plans,” he says softly, watching her. “Why YOUR apartment, though? My condo’s closer.”

“Because I want you to use my VIBRATOR on me. Then I want to take a BATH together. And all you have is that big shower, because you’re such a guy.”

She wrinkles her nose at him, and he can’t help it. He laughs. She’s so adorable, and so hot; he’s officially fallen down a rabbit hole from which he’ll never, ever return. “I’ve created a monster,” he says.

“Oh, this is just the beginning,” she informs him, hitting the blinker, glancing behind her as she merges onto the freeway. “I have thirteen years of repression to shrug off, and let me tell you, Logan, I am MOTIVATED. I hope you take vitamins.”

“I guess I’d better start,” he says, curling a hand around her thigh. He slides her skirt up, runs his fingertips lightly over the soaked gusset of her panties, and she sighs happily.

Logan unpins her hair, his oldest Veronica fantasy, watches the bits that haven’t fallen spiral down. She tucks it back with one hand, smiles at him. “Hey, do me a favor,” she says, a look in her eyes he’s never seen directed at him, by anybody. “Grab my phone out of my bag, and hit speed dial number two, then speaker.”

He does, proffers it; but she waves the cell away, so he holds it near her mouth. Keith’s voice comes over the line, a voicemail message.

“Hey dad,” she says at the beep, in her cheerful pep-squad voice. She shifts to the highest gear, and eases the pedal towards the floor. “Listen, I forgot to tell you, last time I called. I’m bringing Logan to Christmas dinner because he’s my boyfriend. Finally. And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him already; I think I’ve felt that way for years. So I just…I want you to be prepared. You should know, I’m SO much happier with him than I EVER was with Duncan. I love you! Also, tell Alicia I owe her ten bucks. She’ll remember why.”

Veronica gestures, and he hangs up, dazed. She says, “Alicia bet me I’d discover Duncan wasn’t the one, long before he put a ring on my finger. Alicia’s always right.”

“Veronica,” he says, and that’s it. He feels like a beached fish, gasping. 

“You don’t have to say the words back,” she tells him, with a smirk. “I already know how you feel. I definitely insist you SHOW me, though, as soon as we’re behind a locked door.”

He nods, and she turns back to the road; seems to re-focus on driving, though the smirk lingers. 

Logan uses one fingertip to draw a heart on the silky, secret skin of her inner thigh. Wonders which kind of vibrator she has, and just what she wants him to do with it. 

He gazes through the windshield at the smoggy sky, pale lemon sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, and reminds himself to apologize to Lilly; he never should have laughed in her face, on Friday. 

As it turns out, she was absolutely right.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful and talented BryroseA for organizing this challenge. And many more thanks to the fabulous LKFFSG, for encouragement, beta-reads and excellent advice.


End file.
